


Knocking on Heaven's Door

by orphan_account



Series: Through all of Time [3]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A change of relationship</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knocking on Heaven's Door

The other monks were all prostrate or huddled at the foot of the altar, weeping their prayers and sobbing for redemption as the Viking raiding party battered at the door of the Abbey church.

 

One voice rose clear and strong in the Kyrie. One monk stood tall and chanted the petition for grace, refusing to cower, despite days of fasting and sleeplessness.

 

His name had been Jaska when he was saved from the sea when the Arab slaver ship was wrecked on the rocks below the Abbey. Now he was Brother James and he spoke Welsh and Latin as well as the other monks of Anglesey, but he could remember snatches of his mother-tongue. He could understand some of the shouts in Norse that were coming from outside.

 

A child of the Viking kingdom of Dublin, he’d been snatched by the slavers, prized for his blonde hair and tall stature. He’d fetch a good price in Miklagard. He could remember his mother, also blonde, pure Norse and his father, darker, shorter, part Irish but it had been so long ago. He raised his voice again in the Ave as the doors gave way.

 

For a reason he could never explain, the expression he heard most often from his mother when he was a child, leapt unbidden from his lips

 

“You stop that this minute, you naughty boys. If I come to you, I’ll take the skin off your backsides.” It was faultless Norse, with the tell-tale screech of an angry woman, scolding her children. The Vikings stopped in their tracks.

 

Their leader stepped forward til he was only two paces from the monk. Under the ornate helmet, either side of the nose-piece in the shape of a wild boar, were the bluest eyes. The thin lips under the dark beard split into the widest of grins and he roared

 

“Jaska! Jaska! My son!”

 

It could have been the fasting or the lack of sleep, or just the immense courage he’d shown but Brother James, formerly the Norse child Jaska, fainted into his father’s arms.


End file.
